The postcard was promoting ice skating. Actually, it was promoting ice skating in rinks located throughout the state.

The firm that owned the various rinks was understandably motivated to convince folks how wonderful a pastime ice skating can be. Especially within the confines of one of its rinks, which are, as was noted, found at numerous locations, maximizing convenience for folks with a pent-up desire to “take to the ice.”

But that wasn’t what was interesting to the guy.

There were three photos on the front of the postcard, one depicting a large group of family recreational skaters. One pictured two youths wearing hockey equipment, looking extremely pleased to be on the ice. The third was of three younger youths, arms raised, smiling broadly – clearly overjoyed to be learning how to ice skate.

The three photos were designed to showcase the fact that ice skating is an activity for every age. It also allowed for some text underneath that described programs available for family group skating, hockey instruction, as well as classes for beginners as young as 3.

But, once again, this wasn’t what the guy found interesting.

The fact that the mailing wasn’t particularly likely to motivate the guy to take to the ice was not terribly interesting, either. We all get mailings in mass form that are not tailored to our interests. The postcard come-on was more of an attempt to cast a net widely in hopes of catching a fish rather than baiting a hook for a specific species.

The guy, in any case, was definitely not this kind of fish. He skated as a child.

Well, he walked around on his ankles, in between falls.

Ice skating seemed to defy all his body understood about gravity. Balancing on skinny strips of metal while traversing a slippery, rock-hard surface had no allure. It would have helped, naturally, if he could have managed to stay upright for more than a shaky step at a time. But he couldn’t.

His skating career thus ended early – on its first day. The guy had no desire to get back on that horse. That horse was free to wander away and join a wild herd of mustangs in Wyoming as far as the guy was concerned.

No, what was of interest to the guy, what caught his attention, was the addressee on the postcard. It was addressed to his wife, down to her middle initial.

This was interesting, for one thing, because he didn’t recall his wife ever being interested in ice skating.

For another, their children were adults now and the opportunity to turn them into the kind of happy little ice skaters depicted on the postcard had long since passed.

What was most interesting to the guy, though, was that this particular postcard extolling the enjoyment of ice skating, as well as its convenient, affordable accessibility, had been mailed to his wife though she had passed away more than two decades ago.

The guy wasn’t particularly spiritual, though he did believe devoutly in the notion that there are no atheists in foxholes.

So, he didn’t take it as a message from his wife that he should give ice skating another chance in order to find fulfillment.

Her name was simply stored on some database somewhere that this particular mass mailing had utilized.

Why this database had remained untapped for 20-plus years was a mystery, of course.

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